


Closing Time

by sleepingbunny



Category: Renegades (1989)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-18 10:29:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15483765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepingbunny/pseuds/sleepingbunny
Summary: Buster and Hank meet again after decades apart.





	Closing Time

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: very sappy and fluffy, and nothing happens except some cuddling, but... enjoy?

“Hey Chief.”

“I told you to stop calling me that stupid name.” It was out of Hank’s mouth before he could even think about what it meant, but once he did, he found himself frozen. No, he told himself, there was no way it could be him. He was gone forever, so there was no point in turning around and making a fool of himself. He focused his attention on the shelf, keeping his back to the voice.

“Hey, you _are_ Hank Storm, right?”

He took a deep breath, slowly put the glass in his hand away, and gathered the courage to turn around. There he was. Either he was hallucinating or Buster McHenry was standing on the other side of the bar, staring right at him with that stupid, achingly familiar grin on his face. He was older, of course, the ridiculous mustache was gone, and his bright gold hair had darkened to a sandy shade, but that face was unmistakable.

“Buster?” Hank said, trying to keep his voice even.

“Actually, it’s Roger now.” He laughed softly. “I figured it was time to start using my real name.”

Hank stared at him, still struggling to believe what he was seeing.

“So can I get a drink in this place or what?” Buster - Roger - asked, reaching across and clapping a hand onto Hank’s shoulder so hard it took all his strength not to stumble.

“You’re shorter than I remember,” Hank said. He couldn’t explain why his first instinct was to make fun of Roger, but it was out of his mouth before he could even think about it.

“Bull _shit_ ,” Roger said, narrowing his eyes, but he was obviously fighting a smile. “You look real good, Hank.”

“Thanks,” Hank said. A strange mix of emotions rushed through him. He was still in shock but he was also starting to get angry, angry that Buster - Roger - had the nerve to come back and find him. Angry that he’d become so ruggedly handsome and that his voice was deeper and rougher and that his jeans fit so well. Couldn’t he have at least aged poorly? That would have made things a lot easier.

“Oh, I look good too? Thanks,” Roger said as he leaned forward, putting his elbows on the bar and resting his chin on his folded hands. His blue eyes sparkled in the neon glow.

 _God_ , Hank thought with a familiar mix of annoyance and amusement, _still such a brat_. “It’s good to see you,” he said, and he realized, despite his initial shock and anger, that it was true. “It’s been a long time.”

“Yeah,” Roger said, and now he was looking around the bar. “Nice place you got here. Did you get tired of being a tour guide?”

“I guess so,” Hank said. He opened his mouth to say more, but he didn’t want to ruin this beautiful, fragile moment. Roger was nodding, tracing the grain of the wood with his finger, and Hank noticed that his eyelashes were the same as he’d remembered, too. Those long, wispy, _stupid_ lashes.

Roger looked up and Hank worried for a moment that he somehow knew what he’d been thinking. “Well, it sure is a nice place.”

“I’m sorry, you wanted a drink, didn’t you? It’s on the house.” He quickly turned to the bottles behind him, willing himself to calm down. “The usual?”

A few seconds passed, and Hank had begun to wonder whether Roger had left or if he had ever been there at all, when a soft voice said, “Look, I know it’s been a while, and… maybe I should have called first, or something.”

He turned to see Roger still there, leaning against the bar. His expression was hard to read.

“How did you find me?” Hank asked, careful to keep his voice low. “You did _find_ me, right? This isn’t just some wild coincidence?”

Roger shrugged. “I have resources. I was a cop, remember? The important thing is that I’m here now.” He gave a half-smile that made Hank’s heart jump. “If you want me to be, that is. I mean, I’d understand if you didn’t. You probably don’t even have time… I should go.”

“No,” Hank said, a little too loudly, and looked around at the patrons, three small groups in booths and one older regular sitting at the end of the bar. No one was paying attention to them. “How long are you staying?” he asked in a softer voice, setting the glass down in front of Roger.

“I don’t think you understand, Hank,” Roger said, and now his face was serious, and the eye contact was making Hank feel terribly exposed. “I kind of thought…” He ducked his head, but not before Hank saw the blush spreading across his cheeks. “I kind of thought I might move here. Make a new start and all that.”

“You want to move here?” Hank realized that he was gripping the bar too tightly.

“Well don’t act so excited, geez,” Roger said, rolling his eyes and slamming his hand onto the counter with a little too much force.

“I’m sorry,” Hank said. “You want to stay here forever? Why?”

Roger lowered his voice to a whisper, leaning dangerously close to Hank’s face. “I thought we could… you know… pick up where we left off. If you want to, that is. I know it’s been a while, and I don’t know if you’re even single, or if you still feel the same way about me as you did, but-“

“I’ll have to think about it,” Hank said abruptly, but his expression softened when he saw the look on Roger’s face. Was that disappointment? Hurt?

“Well, when you’re done thinking, you can find me-” Roger paused. “Know any good motels around here?”

“There’s a couch in the back office here, if you want,” Hank said. “Uh, to sleep, I mean.” He felt his face heat up. “Sometimes I use it when I don’t feel like going home.”

“You mean it?” Roger’s face had that hopeful, almost childlike expression he’d seen so many times before. Dammit, the man had become more handsome with age but hadn’t lost any of that boyish cuteness. It really wasn’t fair.

Hank glanced around at the bar. Only one couple was left now, with ten minutes to closing time. “I just have to make sure it’s presentable in there. Do you mind watching the bar for a few minutes?”

He hurried to the office, scanning the tiny space for anything he’d be too embarrassed for Roger to see. Not that he had much of anything in there, but he didn’t want to leave any dirty clothes lying around, or-

There it was. The decades-old teddy bear sitting on the shelf that Hank never had the heart to get rid of, peering through the dim light at him with sad button eyes. He grabbed it and frantically searched for a good hiding place, but there weren’t any, and he had to close the bar soon.

“Screw it,” he whispered, and placed the bear on the couch next to the hastily-folded blanket.

He dashed back out, relieved to see Roger still there, leaning against the bar with his arms crossed. The couple was gone.

“Did you hide your dead bodies?” he asked with a smirk.

Hank rolled his eyes. “Roger-”

“Sorry. I know I can’t just act like nothing happened, I guess.”

“It’s fine.” He gestured to the office door. “I have to do some work, but you can go on in there if you want. It’s not much, just a couch, but I can help you find a motel tomorrow, or… a more permanent place, if you want.”

“You know I have low standards,” Roger said, grinning at Hank as he headed to the office.

Hank exhaled as he watched him go. Had he even remembered to breathe this whole time? It didn’t feel like it. He sat down at a table and put his reading glasses on, ready to go through the night’s receipts.

\--

Thirty minutes later, Hank knocked softly on the office door before slowly cracking it open. The desk lamp was still on, casting a dim glow around the room.

“Roger?”

He stopped when he saw that Roger was asleep, hugging the bear to his chest with a serene expression on his face.

“Idiot,” he muttered, but he couldn’t take his eyes off him. Roger had taken off his shirt and Hank noticed that he’d gotten several more tattoos since he’d last seen him. He remembered the tacky but endearing Chinese character on his right upper arm, complete with the ridiculous pink heart. He’d never asked about that, but he wanted to ask about the new ones. Well, new to him, anyway. They could very well be decades old. That thought brought on a sudden wave of sadness, and he turned to go.

“I know you’re there, Hank,” Roger murmured, his eyes still closed.

“Just wanted to make sure you were ok,” Hank said.

Roger sat up slowly, still holding onto the bear. “I’d be better if you joined me.”

“Roger, I don’t think-“

“No, I mean, just lay here with me, OK?” His voice was taking on its old defensive tough-guy tone, the one he used when he was feeling especially vulnerable and embarrassed about it. He gestured to the couch.

Hank sighed and sat next to Roger, not daring to point out the obvious fact that it would be a tight squeeze at best. Roger stood up, looked pointedly at Hank until he moved onto his side, and laid down next to him. As soon as Hank felt the warmth of Roger’s body against his, he knew he’d be staying here all night. The bear sat on the ground, forgotten.

Hank was sure Roger was asleep when his whisper broke the silence. “Can you stay?”

He reached up to stroke Roger’s hair. It was shorter than it was when they were together but still just as soft as he’d remembered. “I guess,” he said with an exaggerated sigh. Couldn’t let him think he was getting his way too easily. “Now go to sleep, Buster.”

“I told you to stop calling me that stupid name,” Roger said. Hank smiled as he drifted off to sleep, marveling at the fact that Buster McHenry was in his arms again.


End file.
